


Strange(r) Habits

by liberalmage



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Morning Sex, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, porn and then feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberalmage/pseuds/liberalmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has some strange habits. Bond doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange(r) Habits

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't have OCD. When I started writing this, neither did Q, but it all just kind of fell into place. I did some research to make sure I got everything right. Feel free to call me out on anything, I hate ableist writing.
> 
> Also... This was just supposed to be a porn drabble, but it somehow got out of control and became fluff and a bit of a character study. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

"James, _harder_."

"Whatever you say, love," Bond murmurs a bit breathlessly into Q's ear as he complies, losing just a bit of speed as he thrusts with more enunciation, grunting with each one.

Q, beneath him, is flushed from head to toe, pretty splotches of pink and a sheen of sweat covering him. His cock leaks hard against his stomach, and the friction between their bodies is enough to make him gasp and writhe, to make him grip Bond tighter.

"So fucking beautiful," Bond breathes into Q's ear, and Q retaliates with the harsh scrape of his short nails down Bond's back. Bond groans at the unexpected sensation, back arching and hips losing their rhythm for a moment. " _Fuck._ "

Q does it again, like he's testing it, and Bond does the same thing, his thrusts coming faster now. "Like that, do you?" Q manages. He's close, has been for a while, and his voice is teetering on the edge of a whine, almost ready to _ _beg__ for it.

Bond is close, too close, so he decides to give Q what he wants, snaking a hand down between them to take Q's cock, jerking it hard and fast.

Q gasps when he comes, breathlessly, " _James._ " Bond fucks him through it, only once he's finished pulling out, knowing Q is comfortable being fucked after he's orgasmed. Q watches him as he finishes himself off quickly, coming on Q and cursing loudly as he does.

Bond falls beside Q, both of them needing to catch their breath. "We should go get cleaned up," Q says after a minute.

Bond grins at him, rolling to his side and propping himself up with an elbow. "I don't know. I quite like you like this."

Q scoffs, swinging his legs over the bed and tactfully avoiding the kiss Bond was leaning down to steal. "Kinky bastard." He stands, stretching, and Bond was being honest earlier; Q is so fucking beautiful it hurts. He may be a skinny thing, built like a beanpole, but ever since their first night together, Bond has found himself comparing every single bed partner he has to Q. This one's too muscular, this one's hair is too smooth, this one's too loud.

Q leaves the bedroom for the bathroom, and Bond stands too, using a tissue to wipe himself off. He'll need to actually get cleaned up later, but for now he walks naked to the kitchen, washing his hands thoroughly before beginning to prepare dinner. Nobody wants lube or sweat in their food; Q won't even kiss Bond after a blowjob or rimming, so he especially wouldn't appreciate it.

He's halfway through making scrambled eggs when Q comes out, takes in the sight of Bond cooking naked in his kitchen, and says, "Honestly? You're ridiculous." But he sounds more amused than exasperated, so Bond takes that as an okay.

"Are you objecting to scrambled eggs?" Bond asks with a raised eyebrow, the sizzle of the eggs in the pan filling the otherwise very quiet apartment. It's always odd, having another person with him off-mission. He hasn't had someone so close to him like that in a very long time, and it can be weird but it's not... uncomfortable.

Q doesn't say a word, leaning against the counter next to Bond in silent companionship. He doesn't try to make conversation, since he's shit at small talk. Bond doesn't mind; he doesn't much like small talk, either, and just Q being here is enough.

Bond serves the scrambled eggs at the table, but before he can sit to eat, Q stops him. "No," he says, very seriously, "you're not sitting your bare arse on my kitchen chair." Q himself is wearing only pants, clean ones, and Bond is not at all surprised at the fresh clothes despite having perfectly fine, barely worn ones in the bedroom on the floor. Neither is he surprised at the objection.

"You didn't seem to mind my bare arse on your couch last week, when you were begging to ride me," Bond points out with a grin, and Q glares at him. He just wants to tease Q a little bit. He's funner when he's all riled up.

"One, I eat in the kitchen. Two, I disinfected the couch after you left. Trust me, these are getting cleaned later, but I _still don't want your naked arse on my kitchen chairs._ " He makes it very clear, but his glasses are perched precariously on his nose and his hair is sticking up in random directions, so it makes it harder for Bond to take him seriously.

Nonetheless, Bond heads back to the bedroom and pulls on the pants he was wearing before they all got unceremoniously tossed to the floor earlier. For good measure he cleans himself off with a rag, before going back out to the kitchen.

Q smiles, just a little quirk of his mouth, when he sees Bond again, sitting down, all washed up. "Thank you," he says, trying to sound stern and like he's only being polite, but Bond knows how much doing these things means to Q. Bond respects Q completely, so he would never blatantly go against his wishes.

Bond doesn't look at Q much while he eats. Every time Bond looks at him for too long, or even if Q just thinks he's being looked at too long, he'll take a long pause in eating his food, waiting until he's sure that Bond is preoccupied with something else.

Q's food, Bond notices, is split into three separate piles of scrambled eggs, all cut to be roughly the same shape and size, and eaten one by one, chewed a certain number of times each.

Bond doesn't say anything about this strange habit; he doesn't say anything about Q refusing to put his mouth anywhere near Bond's nether regions, he doesn't say anything about the thorough cleaning, or the fact that he smells strongly of soap now, obviously having scrubbed himself down in the bathroom.

It's just the way Q is, and it's none of Bond's business.

Q finishes eating after Bond, who doesn't clean his own dish because Q doesn't like that, and would just have to do it all over again.

Bond again doesn't say anything when he goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and sees a bottle that says "Anafranil" on it prescribed to West, Daniel—or, another one of Q's aliases.

Only after he's brushed his teeth does Q allow Bond to kiss him. It's the one he wanted to give Q earlier, in bed, but it'll do now.

Q sighs, content, at the kiss before looking back down at his laptop. Even when he doesn't have to go into work, he still goes into work; Bond understands that completely.

Bond settles himself next to his Quartermaster and watches him work. It's this area in his life in which he's completely comfortable, confident; all eyes on Q and he works like nobody is watching. It's safe, he supposes; the world is messy and dirty but computers make sense, and if they don't, Q can _make them_ make sense.

Q hesitates when he notices Bond's attention directed at him, his fingers pausing over the keyboard. He frowns. "Is something wrong? If you're bored you can watch the telly, or take a book from the bookshelf." This isn't misdirection, because Bond has seen that with Q; he's generally much more tense and short. This time, he just seems concerned.

"Finally worried if you're good enough of a host or not?" Bond wonders aloud, smiling and kissing Q's shoulder. It even tastes like soap.

"It has to get boring watching me work."

"It doesn't." Bond pauses a beat, resting his chin on Q's shoulder and meeting Q's eye. "I wasn't lying earlier when I said you were beautiful. That applies in and out of the bedroom."

Q looks almost taken aback, ignoring his laptop in favor of Bond, which is a rare occurrence. It sounds almost harsh, brewing with frustration and confusion when Q blurts, "What _are_ we?"

Bond pulls back a little, not wanting to crowd Q's space. Honestly, he doesn't know how to answer the question; _what are they?_ They fuck, they sleep, they eat—Bond has a feeling all of those things mean a lot more to Q than they do to Bond, that he wouldn't do them with just _anybody_.

In this case, Bond figures honesty is the best policy. "I don't know," he answers, and Q finally looks away. It's quiet for a minute, before Q shuts his laptop.

"Dating must seem like a ridiculous idea to you," Q starts, and Bond doesn't interrupt, even though that's completely untrue—sure, he's not going to go on Tinder specifically looking for a date, but Q is... different. He means something.

"And I'm good at compartmentalization," Q continues. "So if you want this to just be fucking, then it can just be fucking."

Bond leans against the back of the couch, propping his elbow against it to support his head. "What do you want this to be?" Bond asks neutrally.

It's obviously taking some effort for Q to keep his cool. His words are forcibly even, carefully chosen. "I wouldn't be adverse to more than just sex. Even though neither of us are boyfriend material."

"I beg to differ," Bond replies, and Q begins to smile, misunderstanding Bond. "I think you're very much boyfriend material."

The smile is gone now, and Q turns his head to look at Bond again, blinks at him from behind the impeccably clean lenses of his glasses. Bond can see the "I'm not" forming on his lips when he opens his mouth, but Bond kisses him instead.

Q happily takes the distraction, and Bond moves the laptop off of Q's lap and turns Q towards him so he can kiss him comfortably. Q's gripping Bond's hair, but not so tightly that he won't let go if Bond pulls away, and that speaks volumes; Q will let him go. Whether it's now, tomorrow, twelve days or twelve years from now, he's eventually going to have to let Bond go. And he knows that.

Bond almost wishes he didn't.

Q's the one who pulls away, probably because the kisses were becoming messier than he's comfortable with. "So what?" he asks, fingers still threading through Bond's short hair. "Are we dating now?"

"It appears so," Bond murmurs, kissing Q's jawline. "I'm rather sure that Tanner owes Moneypenny money now."

Q laughs in surprise. "You're telling me there was a bet on us?"

"Moneypenny said we would become _official_ ," he drawls, nipping at the soft skin of Q's neck. "Tanner thought it would be over before it started."

"You can't blame him. That was the safe bet," Q concludes, and when Bond tries to pull away to look at him, Q tugs him back down. "Don't stop, please. It.... feels nice."

"As in, you're getting turned on."

"Precisely."

Bond smiles into Q's neck. As long as he can have this with Q, he doesn't care about his odd tics. They're just a part of what makes him lovely.

 


End file.
